


Vermillion and Claret

by remi_wolf



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angry Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Reconciliation, Safeword Use, Season/Series 02, Verbal Abuse, at least there's the start of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remi_wolf/pseuds/remi_wolf
Summary: After the Prentiss Attack, after the reveal that Jon had been stalking his assistants, the environment has been more tense than a piano wire. Tim continually lashes out at Jon. Jon, in turn, tries to take up less and less space in the Archives, even with his investigations continuing. There's only so small that Jon can be, though, and everything comes to a head when Tim continues to berate Jon for mistakes that he's already tried to apologize and move on from.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 116
Collections: Beguilements and Distractions, Rusty Kink





	Vermillion and Claret

**Author's Note:**

> Tim's very angry in this, and makes no attempt to hide it. Verbal abuse is slung at Jon, calling him disgusting and stupid and in general degrading him. No slurs are used. Two safe-words are used, both of which are respected. No physical abuse occurs.

“You’re so stupid, Jon. Stop trying to give me work just because you’re too worthless to do it on your own.”

Jon winced at the tone in Tim’s voice, ducking his head as he pulled the files close to his chest. He had just thought the files would have been a good use of Tim’s time. More mundane statements, ones that he knew would record on the computer. 

“I just—”

“I don’t care. You’re an idiot if you think I’ll help any more with those.”

* * *

“Jesus, Jon! Stop sneaking up on me! You’re being a creep, and even more than when you fucking stalked me.”

Jon jumped as Tim turned on him, already with his teeth bared, and he held his hands up, wincing as it meant that he dropped the statement box, spilling the contents. He quickly leaned down, fumbling to pull the papers close to organize them again.

“Fucking useless. Can’t even hold a sheet of paper. What’s the point of you being archivist if you can’t even put a file folder away?”

“I’m sorry, Tim, you just—”

“Just what? What did I do? What could possibly compare to you stalking me and accusing me of murder?”

Jon winced, trying to ignore the constricting around his ribs as he fumbled with the folder before shoving it on the shelf and running out of the archives to his office.

* * *

“No one wants lunch with you. You’re the worst thing to happen to any of us. I can’t believe you think we’d still be friends with you after you  _ stalked _ us and accused us of  _ murder _ and here you are, stupid enough to—”

“I’m just trying to eat lunch, Tim.” Jon could feel his hands tight around the mug, and he knew there was a worry that he was going to break the ceramic, and it was his favorite mug, too. He couldn’t break it, but—

“Eat lunch in your office! Don’t make me sit here and look at your stupid face with that stupid look on your face? You act so innocent, but I know you’re just a paranoid, delusional dick that can’t even tell when no one—”

“Stop it, Tim. Please. I’m just—”

“Stop, he says!” Tim laughed a bitter sound that twisted his features, and Jon curled in on himself tighter, practically folding all of his lanky, long limbs onto the uncomfortable folding chair. Tim rolled his eyes, glaring at Jon. “Would you have stopped if I asked you to stop stalking me? Would you have stopped acting like a disgusting monster? You realize that’s what you are, right? A monster. No one loves monsters, Jon. You’re going to die alone, and unloved, because you’re a monster that—

“Red.”

Jon could feel his hands shaking as he looked down at the peeling linoleum of the floor, hands too tight around the mug to try and set it down, and his breathing was shallow and fast, and he could feel his vision beginning to constrict beyond the tunnels it already was. He knew he was contorted on the chair, that there wasn’t any reasonable way it was comfortable, but he couldn’t figure out what exactly hurt beyond the wound-tight-spring that was the knot of anxiety in his stomach, threatening to spill the contents of his stomach onto the floor as Tim’s words spiraled through his mind.

“What?”

“Red. Red, scarlet, crimson, vermillion, carmine..." Jon’s voice continued, muttering various names for shades of red as he forced his hand to move and set the mug down before he dropped it. He could barely see, except for the scarred linoleum that was devouring his vision with the cracked browns and blacks, and the wool of his worn tweed jacket bit into his neck, and it was too much, and he couldn’t get the mug to sit straight and flat, and it kept trying to move, and his breathing grew worse and worse and he couldn’t do anything right, why couldn’t he do anything—

Warm hands cupped around his own, stilling the shaking to something more manageable before pulling his fingers away from the ceramic of the mug. 

“Jon. Jon, I need you to take a breath.” Tim’s voice was quiet, quieter than he could remember it being in months and months and months and weeks and days and—

A hand pressed against his chest, and Jon blinked as he realized he hadn’t even felt it move from his trembling hands, and he finally pulled his hand away from the scars on the floor to look at the hand pressing against his chest. 

“Deep breaths. Do you need me to count for you?”

Jon’s breathing didn’t soothe or calm, and after a moment, he nodded, the very barest of a jerk upwards as he realized he couldn’t even think of what would be a deep breath. He thought he  _ was _ taking deep breaths, but Tim apparently didn’t think that he was, and he was missing his friend and he wanted his friend and wanted to fix his friendship and why didn’t Tim just underst—

“In, two three four...”

Jon’s thoughts stopped as Tim began to count, and he forced his lungs to match the counting, slowing and finally feeling the worst of the panic bleed away. He couldn’t immediately still, though, but after three counts, his strings of panic were cut, and he slumped in the chair, eyes closed as he felt exhaustion settle into wooden limbs.

“I’m sorry.”

Tim was sorry?

Why was Tim sorry?

He looked up at Tim, frowning and confused and not sure.

“I shouldn’t have let it get to this point.”

“I...” Jon took a deep breath as he looked at Tim before his eyes flicked instead to Tim’s shoulder, looking there instead. “I shouldn’t have stalked you. Nor accused you of murder.”

A few moments stretched on, and Jon stiffened as he heard Tim breath in. Warm hands settled on his own, though, and he couldn’t help but relax again. No one yelled at him while holding his hands so gently. Maybe he was safe.

“And I shouldn’t have hurt you like this. I didn’t mean even a fraction of what I said. I was mad, and scared, and I took it out on you, and you—”

“Deserved it. I was stupid, and horrible, and awful, and disgus—”

“Red.”

Jon fell silent. He couldn’t violate that rule. Red meant stop. Red meant he had done something wrong, but he didn’t know what he had done wrong, just that everything he did now was wrong, and Jon could feel his breathing growing worse again, and he closed his eyes again. He silently counted, forcing his breathing into march and step, and slowly the panic and worry that he had done yet another thing wrong slowly started to fade. 

Silence stretched between them, Jon unsure of how to proceed or what to say, and Tim didn’t seem to be too inclined to say anything much either, and Jon didn’t mind. Silence was good. He couldn’t ruin silence at all. With the worst edges of his panic folded back into the corner of his mind that it usually stayed in, he could handle silence rather than chatter.

“I didn’t know you knew kink.”

The words surprised Jon, having come out of nowhere what felt like hours after Tim safe-worded. Jon huffed a quiet breath. It wasn’t quite a laugh, he didn’t think he could manage that yet, but it was closer than he had been in a long time. “Nice to...to get out of my head. Nice to have rules and rhythm and roles and things I can’t mess up.”

“Huh. Alright then. Well...” Tim sighed, and Jon stiffened as he felt Tim pull him into a hug. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to relax and reciprocate it, but he did, eventually. “Well, I’m glad you did. Thank you for saying something. Can I buy you lunch?”

Jon sighed as he squirmed closer to Tim. While he wasn’t sure that this fixed everything between them, Tim  _ was _ his friend, and he missed him, and a hug felt better than he imagined it would. “Soup?”

Tim smiled, and Jon could feel it against his temple, and he squeezed Tim tighter. “Yeah, Jon. Let’s get some soup.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I know I have a weird fondness for exploring Tim in his anger and bitterness in season 2 and 3 and I saw this prompt on the kink meme, and it was the first flash of inspiration I had in almost a month, so I knew I needed to chase it down. But yeah! I hope you enjoyed reading it. Comments are always welcome!


End file.
